Just Another Brick
by illyriazshell
Summary: A series of non-continuous, non slashy ficlets showcasing missing scenes from the YEARS Sylar and Peter spent in their walled-in mind city, with moments ranging from being bitter enemies to reluctant allies to hesistant friends.
1. The Show Must Go On

**Title:** Just Another Brick -

**Author:** illyriaz_shell

**Characters:** Peter, Sylar (of the non-slashy variety)

**Rating:** T (ish?)

**Disclaimer:** Nothing's mine.

**Warning:** Spoilers up to 4.18. Also, if you're looking for Sylar/Peter slash, you will be sorely disappointed. This series of ficlets are all of the non-naughty variety (though, if I could write slash, goddamn did the writers make it easy in "The Wall")

**Summary**: A series of non-continuous ficlets showcasing missing scenes from the YEARS Sylar and Peter spent in their walled-in mind city. Yes, each chapter title is the name of a song from Pink Floyd's "The Wall," but these are not songfics (though if you want appropriate lyrics that are appropriate, search Pink Floyd's "Hey You")

* * *

**Chapter Title: **"The Show Must Go On"

**Chapter Summary**: Sylar and Peter go to the movies! Takes place two weeks after the appearance of the wall.

* * *

Peter stared at the two posters. _You have to be kidding_, he sighed internally.

He looked out the window of the lobby; the sun was setting. He refused to sleep, because he didn't need to sleep, since it had only been a few minutes of real time, even if it felt like weeks. He didn't need to sleep because none of this was real, no matter how real it felt. However, he was feeling overexerted, and he couldn't help give in to him mind's perception of his physical exhaustion. After hammering against an immovable wall for a fortnight, Peter relented since taking a few hours off would only really cost him seconds.

But no matter how much he was aware that this...place...was just a sum of his and Sylar's thoughts, Peter couldn't escape how realistic this nightmare felt. He'd tried wishing for objects, people, anything; had tried willing certain things into existence, but alas, that only ever worked in the most obscure and unhelpful of ways. And it certainly wasn't helping him at the moment he had tried to find something leisurely that wasn't 9th wonder comic books.

He could leave, but leave to what? Back to the wall? No, he was going to make a decision. He considered again; the two movies that were playing were almost cruel, but looking around the empty cineplex, double-checking to see that there was suddenly no third option, he hung his head, sighed, and walked into the theatre on the left. Surprisingly, but not really, the film began to play as soon as Peter took his seat.

* * *

"Interesting choice," Sylar stated near the film's climax, startling Peter slightly.

"Wha...when did you come in?" said Peter, exasperated, to the smug man sitting in the dimly lit row behind him. He had half hoped that Sylar wouldn't find out about his little break, lest he think that Peter was giving up on the wall.

"What are you talking about, Peter? I've been here the whole time," Sylar answered, looking sincere. He leaned back in his seat and with a smirk, held out the bucket in front of him. "Popcorn?"

Peter waved his hand in annoyed refusal, then crossed his arms and slumping further into his seat. "You haven't been here the whole time, otherwise why would you say something now. And where did that popcorn come from anyway? There's no one here, the concession stand was deserted..."

"Enough Peter, I get it, this is dream. You think I haven't accepted that by now?" said Sylar, also annoyed, who started humming 'Let's All go to the Lobby'.

Peter turned around in his seat and gestured emphatically to the exit, "Then why aren't you out there right now, trying to make progress on _getting us out of here_?"

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm taking a break," Peter huffed, and turned back towards the screen. "_I _ have actually been doing something productive for the last two weeks," Sylar scoffed audibly, "working to tear down your wall of self-loathing which, if the metaphor is accurate, is something YOU should be at least helping with. Forgive me if I need a few hours off from that endeavor."

"So you come to watch THIS movie?" Sylar pointed to the screen and laughed. "The sequel? Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan for obvious reasons, but the first won Best Picture."

Peter barked, "I really wasn't too keen on watching a film where a man goes around wearing the skin of people he's killed."

After a beat, Sylar half-chuckled, "But have you even seen 'Hannibal'?"

"No, why..." Peter started as he tuned back into what was going on in the film, but as the words came out of his mouth, he watched as Anthony Hopkins removed the carefully-sliced skull-cap from Ray Liota's head, exposing his brain.

"Oh, that's great! That's just fucking perfect!" Peter yelled. Without turning back to the killer behind him, he said "This is probably the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in a movie, and this is the thing YOU GET OFF ON. What, did you watch the movie a hundred times? You ever notice you channel Lecter a lot of the time? And, oh fantastic, they're eating his brain."

Throughout this verbal tirade, Sylar was quiet. Peter didn't know, couldn't see, but the empathy in him could tell that Sylar wasn't amused anymore. After a moment of silence from the back row, Peter heard a muttering of "I never _ate_ their brains..."

"Well that makes it ok, then, doesn't it?" Peter huffed back sarcastically, tucking his bangs behind his ear.

Sylar leaned forward, folding his arms on the back of the seat in front of him so his head was beside Peter's. "Look, like most of this hellhole, I've realized this theatre is just another facet of Parkman's punishment, to show me the monster I was. Who I'm trying not to be. Any minute now...yep, there it goes..."

The film on the screen dissolved into black and white, and suddenly A-list celebrities dining on grey matter dissolved into scene after scene of people, immobilized, helpless, crying, as red lines inched across their foreheads, giant drops of blood falling down their faces. Peter lost track very quickly how many faces he watched the life drain out of, and eventually he had to look away.

"Not pretty, is it? Well, it's hell for me too, believe it or not. But unlike before, three years has given me some perspective. The person who enjoyed that, the monster who revelled in the killing, that's not me anymore Peter. I'm not in tears over my body count, so clearly I've got miles to go before I've repented, but the killer you knew was constructed from many factors, and that person is breaking down."

"That monster is you. It's who you are, Sylar. It was your choice to be a killer." Peter pointed to the screen, "Look, there's you killing Elle, after discovering your empathic powers!"

"Don't give me that! Look!" Sylar said, slamming his fist beside Peter's seat, jolting him to look back at the screen. Images of Nathan and his mother having their heads sliced open flickered. "Those aren't my memories, Peter. That's you. You had your empathy under control for years, and five minutes with the hunger and you craved killing just as much as I did. I'm not excusing what I've done, I have to come to terms with that and make amends with the world..."

"You can never make amends..."

"...but" Sylar continued, ignoring Peter's snide remarks, "you're going to have to come to terms with the fact that a lot of your immediate and extended family are responsible for _Sylar_."

The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, as the images of deceased heroes faded and the movie began to play again. The only other sound was Sylar's obnoxious crunching of the popcorn.

_Julianne Moore's ponytail slipped into the fridge door, and Anthony Hopkins broke off the handle, trapping her there. Looking indignant as the killer in front of her spoke to her, Anthony Hopkins leaned in for a kiss._

Peter cringed and looked away from the screen again, but the sound of cardboard crunching caught his attention and he looked back at Sylar, who was wearing a frightened look on his face as he held a scrunched up popcorn box in his hand. He looked at Peter, looked back at the screen, and with horror etched into his features, simply said, "Oh shit."

Peter slowly turned his face back to the screen. Once again, the film had dissolved, and instead Peter was watching a black and white image that towered over the immobilized form of his pissed-off looking niece.

"_If you're not going to contribute" the disembodied voice of Sylar spoke over the sequence, "I'll just have to take the answers from your head."_

_Claire looked unimpressed, if a little scared, "You gonna slice my head open again?"_

"_I've evolved way beyond that," the voice of Sylar echoed, "our friend Lydia gave me a much more precise instrument." The image of Claire came into better view, now directly overtop of her face. "She could read someone....just by touching them. See into the very depths of their soul."_

_Claire looked truly frightened now. _

"_Of course, her methods were a little hyper-erotic, but...aw, what the hell," a large hand stroked the side of her face while she was trying and failing to will it to stop, before it disappeared behind her head and pulled her face even closer to the screen, "it is college, isn't it." _

_Claire struggled, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, clearly resisting the best she could , but as the screen zoomed in on her lips and went black, the sound of lips smacking and heavy, unpleased female pants was enough to paint an excellent picture of what was occurring . _

Sylar, caught up in the memory, did not see the first punch coming. Peter, who had jumped over the seats, pulled Sylar to his feet with his shirt and began to wail on him with his fists, relentlessly. Sylar didn't fight back, merely tried to deflect oncoming attacks, but eventually Peter dropped him to the ground.

As he headed towards the exit the theatre, without looking back, Peter shouted to the bloodied man, "Don't even think about coming to find me for at least a month. I'm not sure how this nightmare works, but I don't want to risk dying in your mind because I've beat you to death."


	2. Nobody Home

**Story Title:** Just Another Brick

**Author:** illyriaz_shell

**Rating:** T (ish?)

**Disclaimer:** Nothing's mine

* * *

**Chapter Title:** "Nobody Home"

**Chapter Summary: **After a year, Sylar and Peter have gotten to a stage where they feel comfortable talking to each other, but each see flaws in each other's line of thinking.

**A/N: You may be thinking that I've slipped over a lot since the last chapter, and while that's technically true, I'd like to point out again that these are supposed to be contained ficlets, not posted in any chronological order relative to their time spent in Sylaropolis. **

* * *

"...and then," Sylar paused. Both speaking and hammering against the wall. Taking a large breath, he turned to Peter.

"Listen, we don't have to talk about this. I know it's difficult enough being trapped here with me without having to me relate all my past...indiscretions."

Without looking away from the wall, Peter continued to slam his sledgehammer into the bricks, punctuating each pause with a loud clang. "It's fine. ...Well, all your murders aren't. But...think of this time...as like a confessional.... If you truly want... to redeem yourself...if you want to get out of here... you're going to have to face up to your past.... And since you've already done the worst to me..."

"...again, Peter, I'm sorry..." Sylar started, but Peter continued on, ignoring his millionth apology.

"...nothing you say...nothing you confess...is really going to shock me...Disgust, maybe..." Peter took one last swing, stopped, rubbed the area of the wall to confirm that, no, he hadn't made a dent. Resting the sledgehammer against the stone, he walked over to the ledge, where a group of water bottles that seemed to appear whenever the two worked together on breaking down the wall. Small comforts. He opened a fresh one and downed half the liquid in one gulp. "Honestly, until we get out of here, we've got nothing but time to swap stories, even if half of them involve different viewpoints of us going head to head."

Sylar stopped to consider. They had spent nearly a year trying to break down this wall, but the majority of that time had been spent apart or in deafening silence between the two as they worked side by side. Sylar wasn't sure if it was the fact that they were the last two men on Earth, but he was somehow comforted that Peter had warmed up to his presence after all this time. He was, after all, aiming for redemption, and the fact that one of the people he owed the largest debt to was willing to help him out, even in this way, was surely a sign that it was possible. Wasn't it?

"Alright, but it involves me killing...more people..." Sylar said hesitantly.

"Always does," Peter commented offhandedly, taking another swig of the water.

"...and just general being a bad guy."

"Uh huh." Peter said, looking unfocused.

"So I wake up on the road, and this brother and sister, Maya and Alejandro, pick me up. She's got this horrific ability to infect everyone around her with a rapid killing disease. God, I wanted that power so badly, I don't even know why. I mean...well anyway, they're fugitive too, looking for Suresh."

"Mohinder? Why?"

"His father, Chandra. And because they'd read his textbook. I told them I knew him..." and Sylar began to recount the tale of his trip with the Ebola Twins back to New York. There were several times where Peter noticeably flinched or muttered disapproval, which was to be expected. Sylar honestly wished he could sound more remorseful about his actions during that particular journey, but it hadn't been all bad.

"...so I had to kill him. Which is a lot easier to do manually than I expected...but it was awkward when Maya showed up outside my motel room a minute after his body had hit the ground. I lied to her, told her that her brother had abandoned the both of us. Then I kind of..."

Peter, who had gotten back to working on the wall, stopped. "You what..."

"I kinda...slept with her."

Peter's eyes shot open. "With her brother dead , body not even cold?"

Sylar merely nodded.

Jaw slightly agape, he let out a half hearted laugh. "Wow, man. Just wow. Not that I'd thought you had shame to begin with."

"You're the one who wanted to know."

"Didn't say 'wanted.' Thought it would be productive."

Sylar began to feel defensive, "Hey, man. Listen, I hadn't been laid since long before my power manifested. Please don't tell me you haven't taken some inopportune moments from your gig as Boy Wonder to get some."

Peter said nothing, and went back to striking the wall.

"Well. That was a punctuated non-answer." Sylar mused.

Peter took a while to respond. "I haven't really, busy with trying to save the world on multiple occasions. Most of the time, from you....Well, there was Simone, but that didn't go anywhere considering she was..." Peter went silent for a moment. Clearly this memory pained him; Sylar had to assume that this woman had died. "And then Kaitlin. I thought about looking her up, but..."

"But what?" Sylar asked, lifting an eyebrow with intrigue.

"Iit was a really weird time when I met Kaitlin. I told you about this yesterday. I didn't remember who I was, and ever since my memories became re-integrated, my mind became kind of jumbled..."

"Know the feeling," Sylar inserted.

Peter continued, "and I don't know if the person I was with my memories would be the same guy she had fallen for and, I don't know..."

"Well," Sylar asked, "I'm fairly certain your inherently optimistic and hopelessly heroic, memories or not. If that's the only thing keeping you apart, I'd say you should call her. When, you know, we get out of here."

"First of all, I'm a bit pre-occupied with Emma, primarily saving her, and then possibly...not sure. She...has my attention. Anyway, Kaitlin is probably furious with me about that whole future plague thing."

"Wait, what? Back it up," Sylar interjected. "You said yesterday that you'd gone to the future, seen my favourite power-blocking plague, and came back in time to stop it."

"Yes..." Peter wasn't sure how this restatement of facts was relevant.

"You never mentioned her in all of this."

"Yeah, well, right before I got my memories back, I accidentally transported her and I to the future where the plague was running rampant. She got caught up in some containment crowd, so when I came back from that future, I made sure that plague wouldn't get out so none of that ever happened and she, amongst billions, would be safe."

"You came back from that future?" Sylar stated. Peter simply nodded.

"Alone?" Sylar queried, incredulous. Pete nodded again.

"The future that didn't happen?"

"Yes..."Peter responded slowly, clearly not understanding this line of questioning.

"And if you were to contact Kaitlin after we get out of here, where would you plan on getting a hold of her?" Sylar prodded.

"I guess she's probably back in Ireland."Peter said, unsure.

Sylar wasn't going to paint this picture any clearer for The Righteous One. "She's back in Ireland? From the alternate future, that you prevented..."

"...wait..." Peter said, realization dawning on his face.

"..and didn't bring her back from?!" Sylar finished.

Peter, dropped his sledgehammer, eyes wide in panic. "Oh. Fuck!"

Sylar, who figured a large part of him still must be evil, was unable to stop himself from laughing.

Peter, after quite visibly freaking out, began mercilessly kicking the brick wall. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck..."


End file.
